Davy Jones' Locker
by oxford-hamilton
Summary: Just a short story about Norrington in purgatory and meeting a strange girl with green hair... Inspired by Yellowcard.


Norrington stared blankly at the candlelit jar at his feet. His chest ached from where the sword had pierced him. Water lapped softly on the sides of the longboat as he joined the thousands of other flickering souls.

_So this is death_, he thought glumly. He looked around at the occupants of the boats surrounding him. No one moved. _It could be worse_ _I suppose..._

The water, the darkness seemed endless, so he was surprised when he felt the boat bump underfoot and stop. He looked up; he was on the shore of a beach.

Grabbing the lantern he climbed out of the boat and climbed up the sandbank. There was sand as far as the eye could see.

The sun beat down on him and he pulled his now-matted wig off and dropped it on the sand. He pulled the dinghy up the beach; something in him didn't want to leave it behind.

Reaching the embankment he tipped the dinghy against it, forming a shelter of sorts. Laying out his jacket, he kicked off his shoes and crawled into the sweltering shade.

Everything was quiet; even the waves lapping on the shore seemed muffled. Stretching out under the dinghy, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

He woke the next day, the sun still high in the sky. He crawled back out into the sun and stretched. He was still alone; there were no other candlelit dinghys. He removed the rest of his clothes and folded them neatly beneath the boat, before heading to the water. Like the sand, it was completely smooth and still, rippling softly as he waded in. He dived and surfaced, washing the blood off his chest. He floated on his back in the water and stared up at the cloudless sky.

_So what now?_

He weighed up his options. He could stay in the water, or he could head further inland to see if there was anything else. He dived to the bottom of the sea, not bothering to hold his breath. He felt his lungs fill with water as he sank, but nothing happened. He could breathe as normal. But looking around he saw the sea was bare as well, no seaweed, no moss, no fish.

Giving up he returned to the surface and back to his shelter. It was still too hot so he only pulled on his pants and hat. He decided to stay close to the water, anywhere inland would be far too hot and even though he hadn't felt hungry or thirsty, he felt safer with the sea in view.

He decided to explore the shoreline, deciding to go left. He walked for about three hours, stopping to swim and cool down every few miles.

As he surfaced after testing his new underwater abilities he stopped in surprise. On the shore, far to the left, something yellow and blue shone in the sand.

Walking softly towards what looked like a brightly painted dinghy, he heard the strains of a violin and a soft voice singing along. He stopped and listened.

_Save tomorrow, I can't follow you there. Just close your eyes and sing for me  
I will hear you, always near you and I'll show you the words. Just sing for me_

Whoever was hidden behind the dinghy wasn't a talented singer, but he stood captivated until the song ended. He watched as the violin was placed carefully on the sand, a pair of bare feet stretching out beside it.

'Hello?' he called softly.

The feet shot back behind the dinghy and a face peered out instead

'Who are you?' she demanded. His answer caught in his throat – he had seen many strange things in his life, but not a young woman with long green hair. She looked as if the ocean had soaked into her locks and cascaded in waves about her face.

She seemed a bit embarrassed at being so harsh and walked over to him with a small smile.

'Sorry, I just haven't seen anyone for a long time,' she said. 'I'm Beth'

'Adm- uh, James. I'm James,' he managed. 'How long have you been here?'

'Three years I think,' she said. 'You English?'

He nodded. 'You have an unusual accent, where are you from?'

'Australia,' she said. 'So how'd you croak then?'

'Croak? Is that some kind of convict dialect?' he asked.

'Convict dialect, what? Gees you must be old school. I meant how did you die?' she asked.

'I was stabbed by a fish creature,' he said. 'And yourself?'

She held up her wrists, which were covered with jagged scars.

'Tormented artist,' she shrugged. 'Should've known hell would be an island. I fucking hate boats'

She emphasised the last statement by kicking the rubber dinghy, knocking it over. He wanted to ask her why she'd taken her own life, but held his tongue and helped her fix the dinghy instead.

'That was a lovely song,' he said, changing the subject. 'Do you know any more?'

'Just Yellowcard songs,' she said, picking up the violin.

'What's a yellow card?' he asked.

'It's a band, kinda punky,' she said. He had no idea what she was talking about, but nodded as she ran her bow over the strings and played another song.

'I don't suppose you know any Bach, do you?' he joked when she was finished.

She threw the violin to the ground. 'I'm not a fucking performing monkey'

'What? No of course not, I just meant it's nice to have music, that's all,' he said. Her face softened, but she didn't apologise.

'Where are your clothes?' she asked. He looked down, he had forgotten he was only wearing pants.

'Oh, I was swimming'

She looked over at the water. 'It is hot I suppose'

She placed the violin carefully under the dinghy and pulled off her shirt, revealing pale skin covered in tattoos, headed towards the ocean and dived in. Standing in the waves she looked back at him.

'Are you coming?'

He obediently followed the strange girl into the water. Perhaps purgatory wouldn't be so bad after all...


End file.
